Fiction

Stonecoast Review The Lit­er­ary Journal of the Stonecoast MFA Trouble Child Fiction By Emily Brown There was a priest at the door. He was young and jubi­lant. His hair was close-cut to his head, which struck Roman as odd because most of the priests he’d seen…

Stonecoast Review The Lit­er­ary Journal of the Stonecoast MFA Fingers, Penny, Pocket Fiction By Calla Orion a.) She is Fingers. Actual fingers. Bending at the knuckle to grasp a penny on the con­crete; lifting back up. Penny shines in the light. It is midday. Wealth hits…

Stonecoast Review The Lit­er­ary Journal of the Stonecoast MFA Thun­der­bird Bou­tique Fiction By Zac Walsh Jimmy grabs his shit like it’s an evac­u­a­tion and stuffs it in the nearest bag. Shirt, boxers, socks, Gravity’s Rainbow, tooth­brush, and small body spray, the brand that brings in the…

Stonecoast Review The Lit­er­ary Journal of the Stonecoast MFA Not the Tulips I Was Expect­ing Fiction By Jessica Klimesh In late October, I plant the bulbs, exca­vat­ing dirt with my trowel. Soil, my mom cor­rects me, not dirt. She watches, bundled in blan­kets, from her…

Stonecoast Review The Lit­er­ary Journal of the Stonecoast MFA Tell Me A Story Fiction By N. T. McQueen Tell me a story, Pap. It seems since you came into this world six years ago you’ve been asking me this ques­tion. Even when your almond eyes stared back…

By Claire O’Halloran
The distant hum of an approach­ing vehicle cuts through the quiet of West­more, Vermont. It vibrates off the frozen mid­night air, air that is charged and heavy with soon-to-fall snow, air that holds more promise than the mess of metal and wire in front of me. I toss the instruc­tion manual onto my desk, happy for an excuse to stop reading. It is meant to be a camera. A “fool­proof” gift from my son that will record outdoor wildlife while I sleep. I leave the pieces where they are and head to the front door.

By Robert Granader
He pinches and pulls at the pic­tures on his phone, deci­pher­ing them like code. Every now and then he gets dis­tract­ed and focuses on a back­ground: a pair of boots, a fancy car. But mostly he studies the face, as if he’s prepar­ing to write a dis­ser­ta­tion com­par­ing it to the Mona Lisa.

Oyster City Under Water Fiction By Madison Garber              Morning dawns gunwale gray and wet in Oyster City. The hur­ri­cane, first a roar in the night, then a howl, now a whisper of sea spray over the coast, barrels farther inland.…

The Onion Fiction By Kevin Broc­coli The may­on­naise has not been made. As the onion con­tem­plates how long it will be until someone notices that the may­on­naise has not been made, it sees Chef Doyle trying not to cry. Chef Doyle does not cry at work. In…

FICTION By William McDon­ald So, a child is like an invest­ment, you see? First you estab­lish a part­ner­ship with your other (spouse, mate, lover, etc.), and then you start saving. And you save and you save until you feel like your part­ner­ship has estab­lished a…